


Antecede

by MahoganyDoodles



Series: The F/F Compendium [2]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Introspection, Reflection on evolution of relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles
Summary: How many centuries had it been now?She couldn’t say. They’d lost track.
Relationships: Morana/Striga (Castlevania)
Series: The F/F Compendium [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992142
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Antecede

_How many centuries had it been now?_

.

.

Some had assumed Striga was nothing more than a well-honed weapon, ready to be wielded at her lover’s request. To underestimate her, to ignore the towering vampire in favor of the slight administrator that sat to her side. They were almost all dead now. 

Not by her hand, though she would have enjoyed it. Morana did not take kindly to slights. And who was Striga to deny her the pleasure of slaughtering their enemies? She knew well the sensation of war-lust singing in her veins, the hum against her palm as her steel rent flesh from soon-to-be corpse.

In some ways, they were correct. Why should she pay attention? War council after war council: Striga had seen so many that she could anticipate every move, every rebuttal, the eventual resolution both sides would reach. Humans were so predictable, after all, and Morana would outflank their every strategy. So with her time she instead observed reserved hand motions, hung onto every minute shift in her wife’s tone, and contemplated.

How many centuries had it been now? 

She couldn’t say. They’d lost track. 

.

.

The first had been so long ago: a whirlwind of clashes and resolutions, expansions into unclaimed territory, and skirmishes that drove her forces back. And at the center of every block, a slender vampire, her silk folds draped just so whereas Striga’s boiled leather stained the floors with blood on every footfall. 

Morana first taught her that not all wars were won on the battlefield.

.

The second century found Striga standing at the doors of their encampment with a proposal. Of course, Morana’s pen dripped blood-red with amendments and concessions but at the end they both got what they wanted: an alliance strong enough to crush all who opposed them.

Alone for so long, to have another at her side was jarring. Another’s needs to consider, another’s opinion to temper decisions, another’s expertise to weigh against her own.

And, although they did not yet know it, each other.

.

The third brought Striga to Morana’s mysterious benefactor. Of course, Striga had seen enough to know that Morana could make something out of anything, or even nothing at all, so it was with great reservation she considered the one that Morana knelt to, actually knelt, not the empty gestures of diplomacy.

It was strange, at first. Carmilla welcomed her with open arms. Called Striga one of her own, sat her at her side at feasts and simple meals alike. The queen was more dramatic than she cared for, but even so, the theatrics amused her rather than aroused suspicion. Striga reasoned that even a plotter as prolific as Carmilla could not fake affection of that depth and magnitude for so long. It took a few decades, but she began to feel the weight behind the word _sister._

A family? True, there was a certain bond between her comrades-in-arms, but a family like this was not something she had known for so long.

.

It became a routine, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth centuries blending to a blur of scenes and instants, but never fading. No, every moment with Morana brought energy in the serenity, excitement in the repetition. They were points of light on the arc of her life, treasured memories each one.

So it continued, the days curled around her form and the arrival of Lenore and gazing at the stars together knowing they were two parts of one whole and then a millennium had passed and _what did time mean now?_

.

.

“Is that enough motivation for you bloodsuckers?”

Ah, the arrogance of humans reared its head once more. To the foolish mercenary who had asked, Morana’s expression seemingly did not change; to Striga, hellfire burned in the ice blue of her eyes.

Yes, a steady source of food was motivation enough.

But why would she even need it? When she could fight for more moments with Morana instead.

The meeting ended as they all did, with Morana holding the upper hand, prepared to entrap and strangle their forces at a whim’s notice, although Striga doubted these humans had noticed the mistakes that had spelled their demise—strategic or interpersonal.

.

.

Carmilla was lucky that Morana preferred to handle the mundane, to see the trees rather than the forest, and preferred the power of the executor rather than the regent. 

Because if Morana had wanted the throne, Striga would have put her on it long ago.


End file.
